


Shiny Coins

by Magi_Silverwolf



Series: Shades of the Past [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon-Typical Racism, Gen, Guilty Conscience, Mentions of Pureblood Traditions, Slight Deviances from secondary canon material, The Advent Challenge (2016) by MayWeWrite, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 12:24:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8844916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magi_Silverwolf/pseuds/Magi_Silverwolf
Summary: Sirius Black had spent most of his life taunting Death with hot-headed recklessness. He never expected that She would claim others in his stead. The chill of Azkaban had nothing on the loss of warmth now that James and Lily were dead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.  
> Warning: This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.  
> Author’s Note(s): This story was written for The Advent Challenge hosted by the Facebook page May We Write. The Challenge is to write a ficlet of any size each day leading up to Christmas. It started today and the last part will be done on Christmas Eve. This story will be posted on both FFN and AO3.  
> @Secondary Note: Also, little background things about the Blacks are slightly changed around to make other things work. There are reasons for these changes, not necessarily within this single piece. This piece is written in the greater context of my Shades of the Past series. So if you note the deviations from information revealed from sources other than the Harry Potter and Hogwarts Library series, then just know that it was done deliberately and not in ignorance.  
> Song Recommendation: “Warrior” by Demi Lovato

-= LP =-

Shiny Coins

-= LP =-

“I’m a survivor in more ways than you know.” – Demi Lovato, _Warrior_

-= LP =-

 

Sirius Black knew the heat of passion could change in an instant.

 

James had taught him that. Their first conversation had been little more than an exchange of insults. Their families were on opposite sides of the cultural divide currently sweeping through their world. Both boys were painfully aware of that fact. The fact that they had both met by laughing at a nasty muggleborn by the name of Snape was lost after the inevitable introduction and discovery of family stature.

 

It all changed when the Sorting Hat had shouted out the wrong House.

 

The Blacks held with tradition. Slytherin and Ravenclaw were the only acceptable Houses for their line, with special emphasis on Slytherin. It was proof that they were loyal to the Ancient and Noble House of Black. As the Heir to the title, Sirius had an obligation. He argued with that blasted piece of cloth for ten minutes, even going so far as to threaten its very existence. He finally broke down to begging.

 

None of it worked.

 

As he walked dejectedly to the Gryffindor table, he met the gaze of his cousin Andromeda who was sitting at the Ravenclaw table amongst her fellow sixth years. Her face was neutral and her dark eyes cold. The only emotion she showed was a snapped order to an angry Bellatrix who was demanding he be resorted. When the third year didn’t obey, Andy silenced her with a spell. Sirius was frozen, half expecting Andromeda to act on behalf of the family and declare that he was a blood traitor.

 

“Sit _down_ , Sirius,” she had said instead. Her voice, for all the softness of womanly virtue it showed, still seemed loud in the shocked Great Hall. Trembling, he had obeyed. The world had changed. When James Potter sat down next to him and offered his hand, Sirius took it after a moment’s hesitation.

 

In for a knut, after all.

 

-= LP =-

 

It was the _stupidest_ thing Sirius had ever done.

 

Considering that his deeds up to this point included such things as keeping up a running war with a future potion master and his vicarious redheaded protectress, running the grounds with a werewolf, and asking Professor McGonagall out on a date to Hogsmeade, that said something about how phenomenally _stupid_ this was. It didn’t matter what Minister Jenkins tried to claim about the whispers about a new Dark Lord rising did not matter, the Blacks knew things—the darker, the _blacker_ , the better. So, just to review, Minister Jenkins was an idiot, Lord Voldemort was an evil bastard bent on taking over the world, and he, Sirius Orion Black III, had just stormed out of the veritable fortress which was the Black Townhouse in a fit of rage. In short, he was exactly what Evans had declared him to the year before last: reckless to the point of suicidal.

 

He slowed from his run, but didn’t stop moving. It was dangerous to stay still in these times, and no matter how much he liked Hope Lupin, he didn’t trust the muggles to not attack either. As stupid as storming out during an argument may be, at least Sirius was not a _complete_ idiot. He had both his wand and the pair of daggers Grandmother Melania had given him for his thirteenth birthday. Though he could only use magic as a last resort, the daggers would come in handy if he was attacked.

 

Walburga had detested her eldest son’s decision to focus on dual-wielding long daggers over beginning to work on incorporating wandwork into the forms. That disgusting muggle habit been the main source of all her efforts to get him passed over in favor of Regulus for the years leading up Sirius’ controversial Sorting. The friendship with James had been a non-issue; not only was he a pureblood, but his mother was a Black. Walburga had only begun ranting about his choice of friendship when they had pulled Remus into it. It was not because she suspected Remus of being a werewolf (though Loki knew that she had _plenty_ to say about _those monsters_ ). It had everything to do with the fact that Remus’ mother was not even a muggleborn, but a _muggle_. The one time she had met Remus (a complete accident as they exited the Hogwarts Express after the end of their second year at Hogwarts), she had sneered at him and proclaimed him to be a filthy half-breed. One look at Remus’ blanked face had been enough to turn Sirius’ dislike for his mother’s politics into uncompromising hate. That was when Sirius had decided to do everything in his power to throw muggles and their culture into her face. They rowed over it constantly—he played his rock music as loud as possible; he put up posters of scantily-clad muggle women in scandalous poses; he ditched robes as much as possible in favor of muggle biker leathers. But today’s fight was a final straw. He had to get out. In hindsight, it would have been wiser to have made a plan before leaving instead of storming out like he had. He had nothing beyond his wand and his specially-made daggers. His hot-headed temper would be sure to land him in trouble some day, but thankfully, he had gotten out before hexes had started flying.

 

Now he just needed to figure out where he could go. He needed to get off the street, get somewhere _safe_. The little voice of sensible thoughts (which always sounded like Moony) reminded him that the blood traitor Heir to the House of Black was going to be a prime target if he showed up alone and underage at the Leaky Cauldron. Sirius considered going to his grandparents. Grandfather Arcturus may have been stonily distance since Sirius’s Sorting, but Grandmother Melania was always welcoming, if disapproving of his thoughtlessness. She was probably why he had not been formally disowned…well, at least not disowned _yet_. Sirius was fairly certain that his _devoted_ mother would make certain he was before the week was out after this last argument.

 

Sirius had to pause long enough to let a lorry to rumble by on the street before him and noted the looming brick building before him. It was King’s Cross. His heart lifted and he took off at a fast jog to the main entrance. King’s Cross had platforms created solely for the use of the magical population. On those platforms, there were fireplaces connected to the Floo Network. If he was very, _very_ lucky, one of the public pots would still have at least enough floo powder to get him somewhere. Even if he couldn’t floo anywhere, trains were not as commonly used by wizards as they were by muggles. The platforms would be more or less abandoned, providing a temporary safe haven so that he could figure out a plan.

 

Not five minutes later, Sirius was correcting his earlier assessment as fireplaces whirled before his eyes. He had decided in a fit of spiteful recklessness and not a small amount of unGryffindor cowardice, to go to Cousin Dorea’s instead of his grandparents’. It would only strengthen his mother’s case for disowning him with Grandfather Arcturus, but James would be a more than welcomed sight after the fight with his _darling_ mother. If he had known where Andromeda had stashed herself after managing to get herself properly disowned and disavowed, he would be headed there just to demonstrate how strong he felt about his mother’s proposition that he “redeem” himself by joining the alleged Lord Slytherin’s forces.

 

Still, it had to be the _stupidest thing_ he had ever done, but he figured if he was in for a knut, he might as well be in for a whole sack of galleons.

 

-= LP =-

 

Azkaban was cold at any time of the year. That effect could only be partially blamed on its location in the North Sea. That honor went to the main guards of the infamous prison holding the magical criminals of Britannia. Dementors were nasty even in small numbers, but Azkaban was _their home_. No one knew how the Dementors came into being, which might actually be a good thing considering some of the things which Ekrizdis was known for doing. In addition to the Dementors’ presence, the entire island was saturated with dark magic.

 

Sirius huddled in a ball as close to the center of the cot as he could get. The stone walls and floor radiated the cold, but the cot’s canvas-wrapped mattress and the thin blanket offered just enough protection to keep him from freezing to death. In an act of seasonally-inspired kindness, the single human guard had cast a heating charm on the blanket when he had brought around the gray, lumpy gruel that served as food. The weak warmth was not enough to completely chase away the winter’s chill, but for a few hours he would be at least be a temperature above that of Helheim’s depths.

 

The cold wasn’t even the worst thing about being locked in Azkaban, waiting for a trial he was becoming convinced was not going to happen. For the first few weeks, he had lived in Dementor-enhanced guilt about the part he played in James and Lily’s deaths. If only he hadn’t insisted they choose Peter as their Secret Keeper, if only he had trusted his knowledge of Moony’s nature, then his sworn-brother and the woman who had practically stolen his heart as well would still be alive. If only he hadn’t been so easily swayed into handing over Harry to Hagrid so that he could go rat-hunting, giving into the call of his Black blood which demanded revenge, then maybe he wouldn’t be in prison now. When Bellatrix had arrived, already deep within the grip of madness, laughing about how _she_ as the Left Hand of the Dark Lord had gotten a trial while no one bothered to talk about giving one to the Black traitor, Sirius had started to come out of the fugue which had trapped him since shortly after his arrival.

 

The confirmation that today was Christmas gave him new cause to dwell on recriminations. Sirius had done a lot of stupid shit over the years. If the universe worked on any kind of karmic balance, then his recklessness should have killed him long before he had reached this point. He had been taunting Death since he was six and challenged Andromeda to a spar—no matter that he had barely begun instruction in the use of his chosen weapon and she had just returned from her first semester at Hogwarts. If Andy hadn’t been the awesomely wise Ravenclaw she was and realized what he was trying to prove, then that could have turned out worse than it had. Black blood held too much power to do anything by halves. It appears now, that fucking up is included in that. If he had not been such a short-sighted fool, blinded by his own hubris, then he would have been lounging in front of the fireplace at Prongs’ cottage, drinking some of Lily’s family recipe cocoa with a splash of a secret ingredient that was pure Dorea (that woman had the best taste in brandy) and eating James’ truly pitiful attempts at Christmas biscuits. Moony would be reading to the Prongslet as they cuddled in that too-squishy armchair they favored while Prongs whirled Lily around the living room to a muggle carol that was never meant for dancing. Maybe Alice and Frank would even be there with little Neville. Frank would probably be lost in one of Lily’s rune journals while Alice tried to keep Neville from eating the tree or the poinsettias which Lily loved—last Sirius had seen him, the toddler had started trying to touch and/or taste every plant or plant-like thing he could find. In short, if he hadn’t stupidly gotten himself thrown into the same place which housed the likes of his batty cousin who bragged about being devoted to the nutter bent on mass genocide, he would have been at _home_ with his _family_.

 

By the gods, he had always known that the heat of passion could change everything in an instant. The Blacks were all passionate people and never did things by halves. While Walburga had always explained their family motto as relating to their blood status, it would have been fair more accurate to apply it towards how they interacted with the world. If a Black was in, they were in all the way.

 

A single knut was never enough. They always had to throw in a vaultful of shiny coins.


End file.
